The Electric Slide

Our house needs insulation.

It was built in 1915, and is uninsulated, so even though it has rocking steam heat, and cast iron radiators that whistle while they work, we need to insulate the attic to keep some of that juicy moist heat in the house.

My friend Mark, who with his brother tore apart and gorgeously remodeled the entire first floor of his house (built in 1920 – practically brand new), blew insulation into his own attic last summer (with the crucial help of his faithful woman, my eldest sister MB), so I hired begged him to help me. He agreed and took half of Monday and Tuesday off from work. Because he's a really good friend. And a super hero.

Mistah and Westy and I met Mark and Big Blue (his pick-up truck), at the Lowe’s parking lot on Monday at 4, and we got the giant “Cocoon” green fiber machine, the giant box-on-wheels that holds 100 feet of hose, and 20 bags of green fiber insulation. We also got a couple rolls of pliable foil insulation and some eyewear. Mark had every other tool we’d need. We were laden.

We got home and got straight to work, prepping for our big day of Blowing ‘Er In.

We spent hours up there.
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We used the pliable foil insulation to build “dams” between all the joists, so the insulation wouldn’t go down the sides and block the vents.

Our attic has a tongue-in-groove pine floor, and we needed to pull up some boards so we could get the hose into the space between the attic floor and the 2nd floor ceiling.

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What we found in that space there, though, was knob and tube wiring – a really old, really old-fashioned means of conducting electricity through a house. Even though it looks like it couldn’t possibly be safe, it actually is . . . if it is.

Ours, though, was so brittle and so bare in so many places – exposing uninsulated wire – that we were sure there was no way it was still tied into the house’s electricity.

This is a house, mind you, that was completely renovated and has a modern, up-to-date, organized fuse box in the basement.

Oh, it's organized.

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So? Naturally, we cut the wire.

And found out it is still tied into the house’s electricity.

We only lost power to 2 upstairs bedrooms, and the attic light, so it wasn’t the worst catastrophe in the world, but all of a sudden not only did we have old, old electrical wiring in our attic, we had old, old electrical wiring in our attic that didn’t work.

We regrouped, showered, and ate the killer baked ziti I’d made (Mistah was downstairs taking care of kitchen business), sent out a few SOS emails to friends looking for electrician recommendations, and talked about our options.

When I got out of bed on Tuesday morning I found Mark on-line reading about knob and tube wiring. (Mark is now New England's expert on K&T wiring; call him with any questions). We decided what we needed was a guy who could actually fix what we had, without having to redo the whole system.

Every electrician in New London county, though, was in Voluntown at Extreme Makeover on Tuesday.

Bill went off to work, and Mark and I returned the machine, hose and 20 bags of insulation to Lowe’s, who gave us all our money back. We checked out other insulation options - for a day to be named later - and bought a Christmas tree (good practice for Mark and MB picking out their own tree on Friday). We went to lunch. Mark insulated our back door with stick-on strips, and our basement windows with canned foam insulation – the man was dying to insulate! – while we waited for a call-back.

Finally, we talked to a young guy in Norwich who could help us. He asked when we wanted him to come look at it. Today, please, while Mark is still here. Half an hour later he and Mark were crawling around in the attic, assessing the situation. (The electrician who recommended Kris said he was “lean and wiry.” Wiry. An important characteristic for an electrician. We decided he was high-voltage too).

Kris said he could rip out all the knob and tube wiring in the attic and upgrade it in a couple of hours. Get rid of all the scary bare wire and bring it right up to code.

Up to code. Music to my ears.

We hired him. He said he could do it on Thursday afternoon.

He pointed out the few more boards he needed us to pull up. He left, and Mark and I got right back to it, pulling those 100-year-old boards up, square nails and all.

And found this:

This, my friends, is not up to code. This is a mess wrapped up in a nightmare covered by a disaster.

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My firefighter friend Mr. Dibs would love this.
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Bill got home, Mark and I each showered (it's dirty up there), we three had a lovely, leftie-baked-ziti-ful interlude together, and Mark set off on his hour-drive-home. And I have got a date with a 12-year-old (well, he looks 12) electrician this afternoon.

And our house? Still needs insulation.